


At The End of it All

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, But he got there the way people usually do, Canon Era, Future Fic, Gen, Old Arthur, Old Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: “More wine?” He nods, and Merlin tops up his glass before filling his own. “What's on your mind?”-Arthur has united Albion, and grown old in peace. There's just one last, niggling thing.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 158





	At The End of it All

Arthur sips his wine and stares into the fire. It is the time of year when the leaves have turned golden and fallen, and they gather in piles as the wind grows colder. He is feeling reflective.

It's been a good life, he thinks, mesmerised by the dance of the flames and the comfort of his chair. Long. He remembers fire in his stomach and glory just out of reach - passion which is all but gone now, settled as they all have into a comfortable, peaceful kingdom.

He has raised two strong, brave sons and a wonderful daughter who can beat either of them with a mace and shield. His eldest, Arnold, able and stalwart, takes most after him. It's not surprising. He has grown up with the same expectations, the same responsibilities, although he likes to think he has been fairer than his own father.

His daughter, Lillian, is the middle child. He worries for her, in the way parents do worry for their children, although he knows she's capable enough to weather any storm. He thinks she might not marry; an excellent strategist, she has never shown much interest in the womanly arts, instead grown-up hanging on Arnold's coat tails. He now makes sure to consult her in all matters of ruling. She has a mind that bends round corners, tricksy, like Morgana could be, with her same good heart but without the darkness. They make a fine team.

His second son, Martain, has suffered, as all second sons must; with the weight of knowing they are the spare. He has made sure to show his love, and he knows Gwen dotes on the boy (not so much a boy any longer, he admits) but it's a heavy burden to carry all the same. Despite their efforts, he has been closest to Merlin, and soaked up all his knowledge of plants and healing. He has learned too his compassion, and his way with animals and people.

They are good children – adults now to be proud of – and he is serene in the knowledge they will lead Albion well after he is gone.

“More wine?”

He nods, and Merlin tops up his glass before filling his own.

“What's on your mind?”

He turns to the familiar face of his friend. For that's what they are now; no longer can they claim Merlin is his manservant, for all they fall into old habits when alone. He's old now – they both are, but Merlin plays into it more, growing his beard comically long to amuse the town's children, letting them plait it when he heads out into the streets. But no more can he be expected to haul water, or bend and clean fireplaces. Arthur has William for that now, and keeps Merlin around for old time's sake.

That's what he claims, anyway, but when it comes right down to it he's not ashamed to admit he turns to Merlin for most things – entertainment, conversation, advice. He could have been the Crown Physician, but when the time came he declined the post. He chose fetching and carrying instead, and while Arthur tried to talk him out of it, a part of him was selfishly glad for the reason to keep Merlin at his side. Besides, it is helpful to have two physicians in everything but name – they rarely fall to mysterious illnesses these days, but the flu can fell anyone, and Merlin is more than able to step into the breach when needed.

“A lot has changed,” he says softly. Merlin's lip quirks behind that beard, and Arthur smiles back.

“It's been a long time.”

“You never asked me to...” he trails off. He hadn't meant to say anything, to disrupt the lazy quiet of the evening.

“To what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, Arthur.” Merlin sets down his wine, and he's got that old earnest look that says this is something he won't let go. “What's wrong?”

Arthur sighs. “You never asked me to repeal the ban on magic.”

Merlin starts, and looks away. He picks up his wine again and takes a long sip. “Why would I?”

Because you always thought it was wrong, Arthur thinks. Because I may not have punished anyone for magic during my long reign, but that's not the same as being free. Because perhaps, you could have wanted something for yourself. Just once.

“I know, Merlin.”

Merlin stares at him, and he stares steadily back. There's no fear in those eyes, he's glad to see. He's pretty sure Merlin has never had cause to fear him; he couldn't really have hurt him, didn't manage it even that very first day he came to Camelot, with his quick words and smirks and general insolence that annoyed Arthur no end and kept Merlin top of his thoughts for days. Now, of course. Now there's even less to fear. Merlin has been at his side for decades. He saved Gwen's life when Lillian refused to be born smoothly, has helped raise all his children, but especially Martain – he has helped and loved and _been_ there. 

Merlin is his family, as much as Gwen and the children. Arthur could no longer imagine any kind of life without him.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” 

Merlin shrugs. 

“I could have made you Court Sorcerer.”

Merlin has spent a life as a servant, and he could have had the world. Arthur wanted to give it to him, or as much as he was able to provide. He could have given him that. A title. Land of his own. Respect from everyone, rather than just those close enough to the Court to realise how important Merlin was.

“I didn't need it,” he says lightly, and Arthur believes him, much as he finds it impossible to understand. That's just Merlin.

“I'll do it tomorrow,” he promises. “The repeal,” he adds, at the look on Merlin's face. He has written the papers. He will talk to Arnold and Lillian, and he will get things put into action, correct a wrong in their kingdom which has been covered over but not forgotten. Not _fixed_ , for too long.

“Why now?” 

“I grew old waiting for you. I don't have another thirty years.”

He's not angry, not really. He was once, when he first figured it out. But not now. He has known for more years now than he didn't, and it's become just another piece of the tapestry. But one that it is past time to embroider over.

“I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” 

“Still.” Merlin shrugs again, and they both look back into the flames. Arthur thinks of the burnings that happened once – long ago – and shudders. He tips back the dregs in his glass.

“More wine?” asks Merlin again.

“The bottle's empty.”

Merlin grins, and waves a hand – his eyes glow gold, and an identical bottle appears next to the one depleted. He picks it up. “More wine?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. And holds out his glass.


End file.
